


come on now, baby girl

by angelowl



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - Veronica Mars Fusion, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, High School, Murder Mystery, Past Incest, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:13:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23949679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelowl/pseuds/angelowl
Summary: Cersei Lannister was murdered the night of Homecoming junior year. Her strangled corpse was splashed across the front page the next morning.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 224
Kudos: 452





	1. Chapter 1

Cersei Lannister was murdered the night of Homecoming junior year. Her strangled corpse was splashed across the front page the next morning. 

Brienne’s father, the sheriff of King’s Landing, promptly fired the opportunistic weasel responsible for leaking the picture from the crime scene, but it was too late. 

The damage had already been done.

The macabre photo showed Cersei lying in bed on top of her covers in a sheer black nightgown. 

Her eyes were shut and her ruby lips were parted slightly. A crystal tiara sparkled in her golden hair. Her hands were pressed together as if in prayer and a crimson ribbon was wrapped around her throat. 

She resembled Sleeping Beauty just waiting for a kiss to reawaken.

A picture of her on the arm of her date Robert Baratheon from earlier in the evening accompanied the article as well. The pair of them were smiling and waving after having been crowned king and queen.

Her father refused to discuss active cases he worked so Brienne could only speculate along with the rest of the town about what evil had befallen the teen heiress.

Brienne had never run in the same circles as Cersei. (She didn’t really run in _any_ circles, to be honest.) But she knew of her. Everyone did.

The Lannisters had moved to the area at the beginning of freshman year and quickly been welcomed into the bosom of the elite, joining the ranks of the Targaryens, the Starks, the Tullys, the Tyrells, the Martells, and the Baratheons.

Brienne had always tried her best to fly under the radar. It wasn’t easy when she stood over six feet tall and had a face that could stop a clock. In addition to that winning combination, she was the sheriff’s daughter which only invited further scorn, further ridicule. 

Her one saving grace was that she was such a frightfully boring target, so serious and taciturn, that the worst of that crowd avoided her altogether.

Her unfailing stoicism seemed to sap the joy out of baiting her. 

She wished she could say that their apathy toward her was returned with interest, but it would be a lie. Theirs was a life so far removed from her own that tuning into their drama felt akin to watching some glitzy reality show about pampered teens.

They were all so rich and glamorous. Wise beyond their years. Well, not wise, exactly, but they behaved like twenty-something adults. 

Their parents were rarely home which meant they were left to their own devices a lot of the time. They partied hard. Smoking, drinking, popping pills with impunity.

Sex was always on the menu and virginity was a cardinal sin. Their kinky sexploits were the lifeblood of the rumor mill, keeping it chugging along even when the raunchiest of tales seemed farfetched and quite frankly, anatomically impossible. 

Her father spent half his shifts breaking up wild parties along the beach that got out of hand. But parents inevitably bailed out the privileged darlings from facing any real consequences for their actions.

It was their reckless, cavalier way of navigating the world that'd always confounded Brienne the most. But then she supposed she'd feel very differently about gambling if she knew the game was rigged in her favor. 

If the Kids of King's Landing _were_ a TV show, Renly Baratheon would've been her favorite character. 

As far back as she could remember, she'd had a massive crush on him. He was the total package: handsome, charming, kind. 

His family was one of the wealthiest from their coastal enclave, and yet he wasn't a snob about it. (Not like others she could name.)

He was down to earth. Eminently approachable. (Not that she'd ever gotten up the nerve to approach him.) 

When she was 12, she'd broken in a new diary by making a list of the obstacles that stood in their way...

He was rich, she was not. 

He was good looking, she was not. 

He was outgoing, laid-back, stylish, she was not, not, not...

But at the end of her lengthy list, she'd concluded - Sometimes opposites attract, right? - and drawn a heart with RB + BT scrawled inside. 

She hadn't foreseen the most crucial obstacle to their compatibility.

Her silly infatuation came screeching to a halt in late spring of their freshman year when Renly planted a big kiss on Loras in the middle of the cafeteria. The saddest part was that he'd _never even known her name_. 

Two weeks after the kiss, he’d called her ‘Brenda’ in class and she’d wanted to sink through the floor.

Unfortunately, Jaime Lannister had been seated behind her at the time so instead of it blowing over, it ballooned into a huge goddamn spectacle. 

Jaime had let loose a contemptuous bark of laughter before proceeding to correct Renly. Loudly.

“You mean, Brieee-enne,” he’d drawled, over-enunciating her name to such a degree it was dripping with mockery. “Brienne Tarth. You know, like Selwyn Tarth. Our fearless leader with the sparkly star on his chest…He who steers this immoral, lawless ship we call King’s Landing toward calmer waters.” 

Renly had blinked at them both blankly. 

Brienne had wanted to curl up into a ball and die at his utter disinterest, his utter apathy.

Jaime had shaken his head and scoffed, “She’s the sheriff’s daughter. You’ve lived here all your life…shouldn’t you know that? I just moved here and even _I_ know that. Hmm, let's try again: Ever heard of the Hero of Harrenhal? Pulled 8 kids out of a blazing inferno earlier this year. Ring any bells?" 

Brienne's cheeks had burned with embarrassment. How had Jaime even recalled Harrenhal? No one else did.

The fire had happened over Christmas vacation, but by the time they'd returned to school, it was old news. Everyone had moved on to gossiping about Ned and Cat's split.

At the time, she'd felt like she'd dodged a bullet, but weeks later it'd hurt when a cheerleader bounced up to Brienne and asked, "Aren't you the girl who, like, rescued a kitten from a tree or something?" 

When Renly had continued to look blank, Jaime had snorted. "No? Impressive. Your self-absorption knows no bounds. Truly." 

"You're one to talk," Renly had snapped. "You could give Narcissus a run for his money."

"Touché," Jaime had said lightly enough, but a muscle in his jaw had jumped as if he were more annoyed than he was letting on.

"You don't even need a pool of water, do you?" Renly had said in a peculiar tone before apologizing to Brienne for calling her the wrong name. 

His tepid apology had pierced her like an arrow to the heart. 

When Renly had turned away, her eyes had stung with unshed tears.

Jaime hadn't even had the grace to leave her alone after that. Instead he'd kicked the back of her chair repeatedly until she had no other option but to swivel around in her seat and demand in a low, menacing voice that he knock it off. 

He’d smiled, slow and lazy, and then tipped his head to the side. “Oh, was that your chair, baby girl? My bad.”

Brienne had grit her teeth. He _knew_ she hated it when he called her that.

'Baby girl' was an endearment that might’ve been considered sweet to the average girl, one petite and attractive, but it was clearly meant as a humiliating insult to someone like Brienne. Jaime naturally found the incongruity of such a tender nickname for a six foot hideous freak hilarious.

He'd only smiled wider as she spun back around and crossed her arms, counting down the seconds until she could flee to the bathroom and bawl her eyes out in private.

So yes, Jaime was probably the one member of the A-listers who could pick her out of a line-up and identify her by name. 

They’d been stuck in the same PE class his first quarter there. It’d been a weird mishmash of students and none of his buddies were in it so he’d spent his time heckling Brienne and being aggressively competitive with her. 

She’d lost count of the number of times he fouled her.

"Oh, baby girl, am I crowding you? Am I too close for comfort?" he’d taunt her with a shit-eating grin. 

Most gallingly, her go-to stoicism hadn't made him lose interest in her the way it had his peers. 

Quite the opposite. If anything, her sustained impassivity only seemed to spur him on. 

The more she shuttered her emotions, the harder he scrabbled to get a rise out of her. She'd withdraw and he'd advance. Like clockwork. 

It was the world's most maddening dance. 

And so okay, maybe she'd shoved him a couple times in return. Elbowed him a few others. She was just defending herself from his incessant hovering and trash talk.

She should be given a medal for showing restraint and not laying him out flat. Especially after the morning he'd almost run her over in the school parking lot. Even though he denied it afterward, she'd swear his Audi had been gunning for her. 

Anyway, somehow she’d been unlucky enough to share a class with him every single quarter after that, and somehow he was always seated nearby even when it wasn’t assigned seating. Even so, they were little more than antagonistic acquaintances.

The sum total of what she knew about him was that he was movie star gorgeous, conceited on account of being so gorgeous, spoiled, obnoxious on account of being so spoiled, never took anything seriously, and finally, that he and his equally stunning twin sister, Cersei, were attached at the hip.

But she hadn’t known _how_ attached they were until one fateful afternoon sophomore year that would forever be etched on her memory.

She’d been at the end of an aisle, searching for a particular book about the Second Spice War, when she spotted Jaime. That in and of itself should've been a dead giveaway that something wasn’t right because guys like him didn't exactly congregate in the library after school. 

He’d been seated at a table in the poorly lit corner which should’ve been her second clue. When she’d peered closer, she’d almost gasped at the sight of a head bobbing over his lap. It had been the golden curls, the signature crimson ribbon in the girl's hair that had given away her identity. 

Brienne had been appalled to see any couple defiling the library with such depravity, but realizing it was none other than his sister blowing him had made her jaw drop. 

It was wrong and shameful, but somehow that only made it harder to look away. 

Her heart had pounded in her chest like a battering ram and her mouth had gone bone-dry. She hadn’t been able to tear her gaze away even when Jaime glanced up and saw her standing there. 

But instead of pushing his sister away, his eyes had darkened further and a ghost of a smirk had teased his lips. 

Even in the dim corner, a shaft of sunlight had found its way to Jaime as if by design. The soft amber glow illuminated his hair, making it glitter like a crown. 

He'd looked every inch the arrogant king on his throne with his regal bearing, his chin tipped upward in challenge, his expression haughty, remote. 

Every inch the golden god who'd embraced hedonism and debauchery as if they were only his right, only his due. 

He'd radiated a certain smugness that seemed to crow that yes, he _was_ entitled to every pleasure known to man, thank you so much for asking.

Brienne had licked her lips like some kind of wanton voyeur. She hadn’t been able to help it. It had just been instinct. 

His nostrils had flared and he’d cursed under his breath, suddenly grabbing Cersei’s head and thrusting into her mouth with abandon as he stared intently at Brienne. 

She’d felt pinned in place by his piercing gaze. 

She’d never witnessed pure, unadulterated lust in anybody before. Not outside of the odd romcom where it was all fake because they were just actors acting. 

But seeing the rosy flush on his skin, the tidal wave of _desire_ coursing through him as his pupils dilated, his breathing hitched…it was a rush, even if it wasn't for her. 

Brienne had swayed on the spot, feeling increasingly light-headed as Jaime pumped his hips faster and faster, chasing his orgasm. 

She'd gone hot all over, burning a bright scalding scarlet, as he came. 

She would never forget the way he bit his lip as he unraveled, his face screwing up in ecstasy. The way his eyes stayed locked on hers. 

It was intoxicating.

The low, garbled groan he released was the thing that finally freed her, rattling her enough to unstick her feet so she could hurry away.

Her knees had buckled when she made it to the bathroom and she’d sat on the toilet for a good half hour until her legs stopped trembling.

The next day Jaime had intercepted her at lunch. 

She’d usually eat in the library, but that had been ruled out for obvious reasons. She hadn’t been sure she’d ever be able to set foot in there again without dying of abject mortification. Instead she’d hunkered down in a deserted hallway and was doing some homework as she ate her sandwich. 

When he’d come striding toward her she’d known he intended to threaten her to keep quiet. As if she was the kind of person who spread rumors. As if anybody would believe her even if she were inclined to gossip about the twins. 

The imperious jut of his chin and the merciless glint in his eye had promised destruction to any who crossed him. Brienne had struggled not to gulp as he loomed over her with a sneer. 

She’d only ever seen the Lannister patriarch in passing, but for once, she could see the resemblance between father and son. They had intimidation down to a fine art. His gaze, so cold and uncharacteristically humorless, had chilled her to the bone. 

She’d cleared her throat and been about to hastily assure him that she had no intention of saying anything to anybody when a sheaf of papers from his bag spilled out to fall at his feet. 

She’d scrambled to her knees to help Jaime gather them. When she’d gone to hand them to him and their fingers brushed, she’d become intensely aware that his crotch was level with her face.

She'd felt feverish, electrified, like a bolt of lightning had just struck her down. 

She’d blushed and licked her lips nervously as she looked up at him (because apparently she’d been reduced to some lip-licking maniac whenever she was around him now). 

His stony expression had cracked in two and in the most surreal moment of her life, Jaime had reached out and traced his thumb over her quivering lower lip. 

When she’d given a full body shiver at the contact, he’d cupped the back of her head and drawn her in so her cheek was pressed to his thigh. 

Brienne’s hand had instinctively crept up to clutch the back of his knee to maintain her balance and her lashes had fluttered shut as he’d carded his fingers through her hair gently, so gently.

Some distant part of her had wondered if he’d pet Cersei like this after she’d sucked him dry the day before. 

Probably not. She probably would’ve swatted him away. She didn’t seem like the type to go for sentimentality of that kind.

“ _Baby girl_ ,” he’d purred, palming the nape of her neck.

Her eyes had flown open at the endearment and she’d frozen when she saw his cock visibly straining against the fly of his jeans. 

For the barest moment, she’d been so drunk with want she’d considered leaning in and rubbing her cheek against the bulge, pressing a chaste kiss against him there.

But then he'd given a wayward lock of her hair a playful tug and she'd come to her senses, jerking away so quickly she’d fallen onto her rear. 

Jaime had blinked slowly as if waking from a dream and clenched his jaw so hard she’d been surprised she didn’t hear his teeth grinding to dust. He’d then spun on his heel and strode away without another word.

She’d sat there stunned for minutes on end. 

He’d been hard…because of her?

Because any girl, no matter how hideous, kneeling before a guy in his teens, practically snuffling so close to his crotch, would elicit that reaction? Because he was flashing back to his tawdry assignation with Cersei in the library?

But ‘baby girl’ had slipped out of his mouth…

Maybe that was his equal opportunity endearment of choice for ugly girls he wanted to taunt in addition to hot girls he wanted to bang. And for a split-second he’d confused the former with the latter?

She’d overheard girls complain about players who used the same pet name for every single girl they dated so they didn’t have to remember their actual names. 

Not that Jaime was a player. 

All the girls _wished_ he would ruthlessly fuck his way through their ranks, but while he may have talked a good game, he'd never indulged their fantasies. 

Brienne had considered little else the night before as she tossed and turned, unable to sleep. So many questions she'd never have dared ask Jaime had been answered with frightening clarity. Like the twist of a kaleidoscope, the final piece of a puzzle slotting into place.

Why was it the most gorgeous guy in their year rarely dated? Rarely featured in any of the juiciest gossip? And never was involved in a long-term romance? 

He was already taken. 

By all accounts, he was a one-woman, or rather, one-sister man.

But he was also a shameless flirt, charming all the girls even if nothing ever seemed to come of it. In hindsight, it was obvious that his calculated smiles and bedroom eyes were a smokescreen designed to ward off suspicions about his uncommonly close relationship with his sister.

Now that she'd thought about it, he probably had a dozen other girls who considered themselves his baby girl.

It’d been silly of her to have thought he’d have a special nickname just for her even if it was merely intended to torment her.

Jaime never approached her again to ensure her silence. And she doubted he ever told his sister the truth about that day because well, Brienne hadn’t been eviscerated, her reputation systematically ruined the way Melara Hetherspoon’s had been the year before.

(The poor girl had practically been run out of town on a rail after Melara had committed some unfathomable crime that roused her former friend’s ire.) 

Cersei Lannister didn’t do subtle. 

So when Cersei had continued to look right through Brienne or with the same idle revulsion on the rare occasion she unwittingly captured her attention, she'd breathed a sigh of relief. 

Although it was ridiculous that she should've been made to feel like the one in the wrong simply for having caught the twins in flagrante in the library that day. 

What kind of game were they playing anyway? Their behavior went beyond brazen or careless, tipping headlong into sheer lunacy. 

Who in their right mind would choose to engage in incestuous relations inside the school library at 3 in the afternoon when students were still milling about? 

If they were so unbelievably desperate and couldn’t keep their hands (or mouths) off each other another minute, why hadn’t they chosen the janitor’s closet? Even a bathroom stall would’ve afforded them more privacy. 

If Brienne had been in possession of such a monumental secret, you could be damn sure she’d keep it behind closed doors, under lock and key. Not parade around, flaunting it in public and courting disaster. 

But she supposed risk was a big part of the thrill. Shoving it in everybody’s faces and getting away with it right under their noses. Everyone’s willful blindness had only emboldened them, making them feel even more invincible. Untouchable.

After this, in spite of her best intentions, she'd found herself watching them, her eyes automatically darting to the pair of them whenever they came into view. 

Now that she knew what to look for, all the signs that the siblings were romantically involved seemed obvious.

Day after day they skated perilously close to the fringes of propriety, flirting with the limits of what they could get away with under the guise of being twin BFFs.

Jaime would wrap an arm around his sister’s narrow waist and let it linger almost possessively. 

Cersei would fiddle with her necklace to draw attention to the tiny gold lion nestled in her cleavage then lean in close to whisper in his ear. 

Knowing smiles were exchanged. Heated glances, too. 

Jealousy reared its head more than once. 

The morning Cersei had worn Robert’s letterman jacket and kissed him in the courtyard for all to see, Jaime had flirted heavily with Elia until his sister had dragged him away, insisting she needed to speak with him urgently. 

Later that day Brienne had spied the telltale hickeys on his neck and the claw marks on his forearm from where sharp fingernails had drawn blood.

They were hardly discreet and yet no one ever seemed to suspect a thing.

Then again, incest just wasn’t _done_ in civilized society so really, nothing short of a repeat performance of Cersei blowing Jaime at the lunch table would've tipped off the others. As long as the golden duo learned to rein in their exhibitionist streak, they'd probably be fine, she'd thought sourly. 

Brienne couldn’t deny she'd been strangely fascinated by the Lannister twins. It was all so wrong, so fucked up, it sickened her, but her glimpse into their dark, twisted world had also intrigued her, made her go hot and flustered at the most inopportune moments. 

She’d zone out during class sometimes just remembering them in the library, the rhythmic motion of her head, the blissed-out expression on his face.

Then suddenly Brienne would be the one on her knees in front of Jaime, the one making him feel so good he lost control, the one hearing his needy, gravelly voice moan _baby girl, so perfect, just like that_.

In amidst the mingling horror and fascination had also been the very real burden that Brienne carried, the cost of guarding such dangerous knowledge.

Theirs was a secret that could ruin their family’s standing in the community, shatter their futures beyond repair if unearthed. 

It was a weight that could crush them all, Brienne included, for she felt complicit in a way. Duty-bound. Absurd as it sounded, she feared she'd shoulder some share of the blame if it all were to go pear-shaped. 

The burden only grew heavier after Cersei was murdered.

A source close to the investigation had reported that Jaime had been the one to discover his sister dead. That when the police arrived, he’d been at her side, clutching her body and howling like a wounded animal.

She felt a certain responsibility to try to reach out to him in some way since presumably she was the only soul alive that would understand the depth of his devastation.

He hadn’t come to school the week following the murder. That was probably for the best since he’d have gone on a rampage the moment his supposed friends began speculating wildly about the identity of the killer instead of mourning Cersei herself. 

Not even Robert Baratheon had shed a tear. Which wasn’t a good look for many reasons. 

Seriously, what kind of a callous asshole didn’t show some emotion when his girlfriend died? 

And more importantly, he’d been the last person to see her alive that night so conjuring up a few crocodile tears might’ve made him appear a tad less guilty as sin. 

Sure, people grieved in their own ways blah blah blah, but the way he held court and regaled them all with a detailed account of Cersei’s final limo ride, the way he relished being the center of attention just didn’t sit right with Brienne.

Nor did the way he’d pulled Lyanna Stark into his arms when the bell rang and hugged her a little too long. The girl in question hadn't exactly looked happy about it either.

Brienne's father obviously didn't confide in her about ongoing investigations. Work was work and home was home, and never the twain shall meet. But Brienne would eat her hat if Robert wasn’t prime suspect #1. 

Murderer or not, you could smell the stench of psychopathy on him a mile off.

Brienne had planned to try to seek Jaime out in a month or two when the pain wasn’t so fresh. However, the universe in all its infinite wisdom intervened.

One week to the day after Cersei’s death, Brienne took her yellow lab, Pod, for his evening walk. She’d always felt safe in that neighborhood, but that night she held her mace so tightly her knuckles turned white. 

Everybody in town was on high alert after the murder, scared that a serial killer was on the loose and that Cersei was only the first victim. Brienne didn’t put much stock in that theory, but she couldn’t deny that she was still a little on edge.

When she spotted a lone figure standing on the footbridge, a tall, _male_ figure, she intended to avoid him altogether, but Pod had other ideas. He broke free and ran toward the man with a burst of speed. 

Brienne had no choice but to follow, her mace at the ready, just waiting for the man to give her a reason.

Pod practically bowled him over, and when the man finally found his feet again, his hood slid down to reveal distinctive golden curls.

She gave a faint gasp of recognition as that unmistakable green gaze raked her from head to toe.

Pod’s front paws were still up on Jaime’s chest and he kept licking his face.

Brienne gathered his leash and drew Pod back to her, apologizing profusely. “Sorry, sorry, he’s a good boy, really,” she muttered. “I’ve been trying to teach him manners, but he gets carried away sometimes. Pod just wants to make friends with everyone.”

“You have that in common, I guess. You’re both so warm and affectionate. So goddamn _sweet_ ,” Jaime said with a snarl.

He looked absolutely wrecked. His hair was disheveled, there were dark circles under his bloodshot eyes, and his skin was ashen in the moonlight. She was sure if she took a step closer she’d catch a whiff of booze on his breath.

She experienced an unfamiliar pang of pity. “I’m sorry about…what happened. About Cersei. If you…you know, if you want to talk…” she began hesitantly, but he only laughed, a low, cutting sound.

“With you? Why the fuck would I want to do that?” He tipped his head to the side, flashing her a razor-sharp smile. “Oh, I get it. You think you finally have a chance now with her out of the way, am I right? Tell me, baby girl, just how eager are you to take her place sucking my cock? Have you been gagging for it for ages? Since the library? Since before even that?”

Brienne whirled away, her face blazing. She forcibly dragged a highly-resistant Pod in the opposite direction as Jaime continued to call out to her in that cruel, mocking drawl.

“Aww, don’t run away! Things were just getting interesting…and I didn’t know _Brienne Tarth_ could _do_ interesting…”

He returned to school the Monday after that, but she made a point to be nowhere he was. 

She felt like such a fool. And a presumptuous one, at that. 

Why _would_ he want to talk about his beloved sister with her? Who was she to have even tried to console him? She was the keeper of his biggest secret because she’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time, simple as that. 

They weren’t friends or anything even approaching it. It’d been stupid of her to think that she mattered enough to Jaime to be of any solace. To play confidante for him. But he’d put her in her place, and at least now she knew where she stood with him.

The next weekend her father was on the phone late at night discussing the newest developments on the case. He thought she'd crashed hours before or he'd never have taken the call in the living room where he could be overheard.

She kept her bedroom door open a crack so she could listen in on the conversation.

It was enlightening, to say the least. 

She learned that, miracle of miracles, Robert’s alibi had checked out. After dropping Cersei off at home, he’d apparently visited a strip club, class act that he was. 

Then came the bombshell that none other than Jaime himself was now considered the prime suspect in the murder of his sister.

Brienne was so stunned her knees buckled. She stayed crumpled on the carpet for several minutes, numb with shock. 

Jaime...a killer? Her mind rebelled at the very thought. There must be some mistake. 

He could be a real grade-A jerk, mouthy and rude, but she couldn't imagine him ever laying a hand on a girl in anger, let alone Cersei. And strangulation had to be one of the most brutal methods to kill someone. 

It took a special kind of monster to do something like that. And Jaime was no monster.

But her father being ousted from the department on some bogus, trumped-up charge not two weeks later gave her pause. 

There could be no doubt. Tywin Lannister was protecting his heir.

Jaime may yet be innocent, but his father wasn’t going to allow a thorough investigation of his son to be conducted to clear him. 

Fury boiled in her veins and uncertainty crept in. 

Why should she have such faith in Jaime's innocence anyway? 

She didn’t really know him, and it seemed most of what he showed to the world was a façade. 

He was an adept liar. He and his sister wouldn’t have been able to pull the wool over everyone’s eyes all that time if they weren’t exceedingly skilled at deception.

Still, there was no denying Jaime had adored Cersei, worshipped the ground she walked on, but then her dad had always insisted that the presence of love was more often a motive than an alibi.

Maybe seeing Cersei on the arm of Robert that night, beaming as she was crowned queen to his king, had driven him into a jealous rage.

Secrets, lies, incest, betrayal, murder all set against the backdrop of the glitz and glamour of King’s Landing…it’d make for a suitably juicy episode of Dateline.

She gave Jaime a wide berth after that and scowled at him the few times they crossed paths. Not that he was ever sober enough to notice. He was drunk or high at least half the time, hungover the rest.

Even on the periphery of her life, she could see he was spinning out…but whether his downward spiral was due to guilt or grief or some combination of the two was unclear.

However, Jaime going off the rails was not her concern.

Her father was her top priority. She threw herself into helping him get his PI business up and running. She spent practically every minute she wasn’t at school with her dad at the office he’d leased as his assistant/receptionist.

Whereas before he’d always kept work separate from her, now he encouraged her to learn the tricks of the trade. 

Even though she was still indignant at the injustice they'd been dealt and eager to clear her father’s name, she was grateful that she got to spend more time with him on a daily basis. 

They were closer than ever, and focusing on cases provided a much-needed distraction. It gave her less time to dwell on the vicious messages scrawled on her school locker or the hate mail her father received in the weeks following his dismissal.

By the first frost of the season, things started looking up for the Tarths.

Business began to boom. The town may have turned on her father, but that didn’t stop them from flocking to him in droves demanding proof their spouse was cheating. Apparently infidelity was sweeping through their community as swiftly and surely as the common cold. 

The second highlight that winter was that Brienne finally made a friend. 

Hyle Hunt. 

She hadn’t had time for the girls’ basketball team that year, but he’d caught her shooting hoops during her free period one afternoon and complimented her on her moves.

He was on the boys’ team, but not one of their stars and had asked for tips. Guys never did that. They usually grew angry and resentful when they realized she was better than they were at some sport and tried to shame her in some other way to make her feel smaller than them. 

But Hyle wasn’t like that. He was so genuine and self-deprecating with this easy way about him. He didn’t even seem to mind that he was shorter than her.

They met up every day for three weeks and on that third Friday, he sat next to her on the bleachers after they’d played a little one-on-one and leaned in to kiss her. 

It was her first kiss and it was nice. He was gentle and respectful and didn’t paw at her or act like he thought because she was big and tall that all she was good for was to be tumbled roughly since ‘she could take it.’

She blushed as he laced his fingers through hers and invited her to the Targaryen bash that weekend. She nodded shyly and he smiled and kissed her again before they parted ways.

Brienne was so nervous about her first date, she couldn’t decide what to wear. It was just a regular party, Hyle had assured her, no need to dress up, but she still wanted to look presentable. At least her dad was out of town working a case so she only had Pod there to witness her girly freak-out. 

She showered and blew her hair dry upside down so it’d have a little more body and settled on jeans and a blue cardigan.

(She'd take it to the grave that she maybe perhaps potentially happened to select that cardigan because of the time she and Jaime had been paired up for an assignment the year before. He’d taken a nap while she did all the work and then awoken, blinked hazily at her and said quite seriously, “Why don’t you wear blue? You should wear blue. Your eyes are blue,” before drifting back to sleep with a stupid smile on his face. In slumber, all his rough edges had been smoothed over and she'd found herself wondering what a guy like him dreamed about.)

She tried to consult a few make-up tutorials online, but she worried she’d only end up looking like she was trying too hard. Besides, Hyle had already seen her sweaty and blotchy after shooting hoops. He knew she wasn’t some great beauty and still he liked her. 

That was all that mattered.

When she opened her door that night, he was waiting with a bouquet of roses. She smiled to herself softly as she put them in water. They were a deep scarlet and they smelled heavenly. 

As soon as they arrived at the party, Brienne experienced a sudden onslaught of nerves. 

She’d only ever spent time with Hyle alone. What if he was embarrassed to be seen with her? What if his friends made fun of him for bringing her? 

But then she reminded herself that he hadn’t had to ask her. No one had put a gun to his head. He knew what she looked like and he wouldn’t have brought her here if he thought there’d be a problem.

Her fears were swiftly put to rest. 

Hyle introduced her to some of the other players on his team and they were nice and welcoming. 

All their conversation centered around basketball which was fine by Brienne. It was one topic she could follow with ease and even contribute to every so often.

Some of the girls hanging with them seemed to glaze over at all the sports talk. A few drifted away, but Brienne felt herself relaxing further with each passing minute, a warm glow suffusing her. Was this what it felt like to belong? 

After she visited the bathroom, she saw that the group had dispersed and it was just Hyle waiting for her.

She was glad. This was their first date and yet they hadn’t had much time to talk just the two of them. 

He handed her a virgin strawberry daiquiri. That was another cool thing about him…he hadn’t made a big deal about the fact that she didn’t drink.

As she sipped her daiquiri, she noticed Jaime had arrived. He was at the bar, but he didn’t look like he was wasted for once. Not yet. 

His eyes were clear and focused when he studied her and Hyle. She couldn’t read his expression, but she could tell he wasn’t thinking anything good. 

He was probably pondering how an ugly girl such as herself had landed a date. Or mulling unfunny jokes about their height difference. Something offensive, no doubt.

Hyle was regaling her with a story about a family camping trip when she began to feel woozy and unsteady on her feet. She staggered a bit, but fortunately her date was there to keep her upright.

She wondered if there’d been a mix-up and this last daiquiri had some alcohol in it after all. Her vision was kind of going in and out and she was just so tired all of a sudden, her limbs feeling heavy and sluggish.

“Let’s go somewhere quiet where you can sit down and maybe splash some cold water on your face," Hyle suggested, firmly taking her by the arm.

He steered her down a hallway and into what appeared to be a guest room. 

But it wasn’t empty. His buddies were there. Waiting for them.

The last thing she saw before she was shoved onto the mattress was the wicked shape of Hyle’s sneer.


	2. Chapter 2

Jaime didn’t know what the fuck Brienne Tarth was doing with that creep. Well, on second thought, maybe he did. She’d liked Renly after all. 

_Renly_. 

Apparently she had a thing for bland insincerity. 

Even from across the room Jaime could see the guy was full of shit and that his insipid smile didn’t reach his eyes. 

He’d call him a wolf in sheep’s clothing, but that would be an insult to wolves everywhere. And to sheep as well, come to think of it. 

Jaime vaguely remembered the guy from Chemistry class. Kyle or Hale or something stupid like that? He was a pathetic hanger-on, always trailing along after Connington and Bushy and those other puffed-up pricks. 

What was Brienne even doing there? This wasn’t her scene. It must’ve all been loverboy’s doing. 

It was clear they weren’t just here as friends.

From the way he stroked her cheek and she blushed like she couldn’t believe her luck that some worthless twat was showing an interest in her ( _what the ever loving fuck_ ), it was a date. 

Which was a fucking joke if you asked Jaime.

Brienne could fit the smug little shit in her pocket. She’d have to stoop to kiss him, probably fuck up her back in the process. 

The guy was just so plain and blah and fake, and whatever else Brienne was, she was never any of that.

She was unique, memorable, real.

She was _somebody_. She didn’t belong with a nobody.

But if she wanted to slum it, it wasn’t his concern. 

Jaime ordered a double and tried to think of happier thoughts. 

Happier thoughts like his sister’s waxy skin, the unnatural sprawl of her lying on her bed spread-eagle with her nightgown hiked up above her navel. 

He’d staggered to Cersei's side, unable to understand why she didn’t get up, why she didn’t answer him. Then he’d noticed her eyes. They were glassy, the whites filled with blood as they stared unseeingly at him in death. 

He’d fumbled to close them, fumbled to draw her nightgown down over her naked form to protect her modesty, fumbled to press her hands together upon her chest so he could almost pretend she was sleeping. 

She’d looked peaceful in death in a way she never had in life. 

That was when he knew she was truly gone. 

She’d never have let him fix her to his liking, never have stayed still and silent while he fussed over her. Then he’d curled around her and wailed so loudly Tyrion had come running.

Happier thoughts like his brother’s dark, knowing gaze in the days that followed. 

_I understand, I forgive you_ , he seemed to be saying. 

As if finding out Cersei had fucked half the football team behind his back would be reason enough to kill her.

"Justifiable homicide, was it?" he'd wanted to snarl at his brother. "Is it that you love me that much or is it that you hate her even more that you can even think such a thing?" 

Happier thoughts like his father’s unflinching stare that betrayed he was in agreement with Tyrion in suspecting he’d done the deed. 

Like his thunderous voice as he ordered Jaime’s room to be purged of anything that might help him follow his sister into death, up to and including his belts and shoelaces. 

A week to the day after Cersei’s death, Jaime had finally been lucid enough to give his security detail the slip. He hadn’t needed a sharp blade or a bottle of pills…just his feet to march him to the nearest bridge.

He’d been contemplating the jump when Brienne’s stupid dog had crashed into him and licked every inch of his face. 

The lab had covered him in slobber before she pulled him away and then Brienne had had the audacity to look at him with concern and sorrow in those ridiculous eyes of hers. 

Like he’d lost his sister instead of killed her, and he’d just snapped. Hurt her so she’d take her eyes and go. 

Somehow even after he’d scared her off, he hadn’t been able to take that last step to oblivion. 

Jaime toasted the bartender, but whipped around when he saw Brienne stumble out of the corner of his vision. 

She looked out of it, tottering like a newborn foal in her sensible shoes. He slammed his drink on the bar as soon as her date began helping her down the hall.

He’d done fuck all for his sister, but he could do something about _this_.

Jaime charged after them, fighting his way through the crowd of drunken friends who kept trying to grab hold of him to say hi. 

Once he broke free and made it to the hall, he started banging doors open at random, ignoring the shouts of the scantily clad couples he burst in on. 

When he came to the last door, he decided employing the element of surprise might be a smarter move so he turned the knob slowly and entered quietly. 

They had her on the bed, half-conscious and bleary-eyed. 

Five of them. 

She’d been stripped to her bra and underwear and they all had their flies undone, their cocks flapping in the wind as they loudly debated what order they were going to have a go at her.

“She’s _my_ date so I call first dibs. Her virgin cunt should be tight as a drum.” 

“Fine by me,” Bushy said. “I doubt she’s been fucked in the ass before either so that should be even snugger.”

And oh, Jaime felt a peculiar sort of calm descend on him. A crisp, clean sense of clarity, purpose, fury. 

Maybe his family was right. Maybe he was a cold-blooded killer at heart because he fully intended to rip every last one of them limb from limb. And he would take pleasure in it.

“What about her dad though? What if he finds out?” asked one of the other guys, the only one who looked even remotely like he was having second thoughts about drugging and raping a girl.

“It’s not like he’s sheriff anymore. His name’s been dragged through the mud. What’s he gonna do?” Bushy scoffed. “Besides, she won’t want to make more trouble for him. She’ll be too embarrassed to tell him.” 

Jaime silently picked up a heavy metallic sculpture of a hand on fire that sat on the dresser. Flames protruded from the outstretched fingertips like fiery blades just waiting to do some serious damage.

He barely grazed one of the points with his thumb and a bead of blood instantly welled up. He smiled and made a quick mental note to write a thank you card to the Targaryens’ interior decorator at a later date.

Connington grimaced down at Brienne. “She’s too ugly to fuck. I don’t think I’ll be able to get it up,” he complained.

It sure would be a shame if someone’s lung were to be punctured accidentally, Jaime idly mused, as he clocked the positions of each of the boys in the room, sizing them up.

Brienne’s date, the guy Jaime had labeled blah and forgettable, but who it turned out was _so much more_ , pulled off his t-shirt and threw it over her face. 

“Well, that takes care of that,” he said with a laugh. 

Jaime flew at him.

The world fell away as he pummeled him with everything he had, punching him with one fist as he slashed at his ribs with the wickedly sharp flames from the sculpture. 

The savage crunch of his nose breaking was almost as satisfying as the gush of blood pouring like a faucet down the front of him. 

He wouldn’t be so _plain_ tomorrow. 

Jaime whirled around to smash Connington across the jaw with the metal hand. 

Red dropped to his knees, spitting out a couple teeth, and Jaime kicked him in the groin. After he curled in on himself with an agonized yelp, Jaime kicked him again. 

When Bushy tried to run, Jaime choked him from behind.

A faint cry from the bed broke through the red haze. 

It was the smallest, weakest cry and yet it sounded as loud as a siren to his ears. 

He released Bushy with a bitten-off curse and rushed to Brienne’s side.

He absently noted the fuckers were making a break for it, seizing the opportunity to escape and hobbling out the door with their jeans around their ankles. But he didn’t care. 

There’d always be time to destroy them later.

Jaime snatched the wadded up t-shirt that covered her face and helped Brienne sit up. She was still out of it, barely conscious, but she was just aware enough of her surroundings to be frightened. 

She kept trying to talk, but she was slurring so badly it was mostly incoherent. Her gaze was unfocused even as it darted wildly around the room as if searching for threats. She didn’t seem to recognize him. 

“You’re safe, Brienne. It’s me, Jaime. You’re safe,” he kept repeating as he gathered her clothes and helped her dress.

The cardigan was slipped on over her head easily enough, but she kicked out at him when he was trying to tug her jeans up her legs. She whimpered and it was this desperate guttural sound that stole the breath from his lungs.

“Hey, it’s okay, we just need to get you dressed so I can take you home. Let me help you. Please, Brienne,” he said, softening his voice to plead with her to believe him, to trust him.

She finally stopped struggling long enough he was able to pull her jeans up and tie her shoes. By the time he was done, she looked far more presentable than he did with his blood-stained shirt and ragged, swollen knuckles. 

He opened and closed his right fist gingerly. The adrenaline was wearing off and it was beginning to hurt like hell, but he didn’t think it was broken. 

He hauled Brienne up to stand which was no easy feat and slung her arm over his shoulders.

She was heavy as fuck, but he was strong as fuck so they could do this.

“You’re going to have to help me out here, Brienne, okay? One step at a time,” he said.

Even now, drugged up to the gills as she was, she was a fighter. 

She forced her eyes open each time they fluttered shut and kept shifting her weight from one foot to the other even though it must feel like she was moving through molasses. 

“That’s it. Mind over matter. Those shits didn’t know who the fuck they were messing with. But they’ll learn, oh, they’ll learn…” 

She was the motherfucking Hero of Harrenhal.

Jaime had been astonished when he'd first watched the news coverage two years prior. 

Brienne had been caked in soot and endearingly tongue-tied as she explained how she'd been out walking her dog that night when she spotted the fire down the road. She'd called the fire department, but couldn't just stand by and wait for help to arrive once she heard screams coming from within.

She'd passed her dog off to one of the neighbors before charging into the inferno. In the background Selwyn had beamed with pride as the reporter applauded her quick-thinking.

Jaime had been pissed the reporter hadn't asked the grown-ass adult neighbors what the fuck they thought they were doing when they just sat twiddling their thumbs while a teenage girl risked life and limb to save the day. But clearly that wasn't the feel-good angle the local news was going for.

After the clip aired, Cersei had sneered and said, "Looks like the sheriff's gargoyle has found her calling! Well, she certainly has the right build for firefighting. And some strategic burns might actually be an improvement on that face." 

He'd laughed along with her, but he'd dreamed of Brienne that night.

Dreamed of her running into that burning building without a thought to her own safety...and all for the sake of mere strangers. Mere children who were trapped in an inescapable hell, scared out of their wits, and begging for help. 

Dreamed of smoke billowing out of the windows, flames engulfing the entryway, sirens wailing in the distance. Dreamed of her doggedly marching ever onwards to rescue the kids and carry them out, two at a time, one on each hip. 

Dreamed of her going back in for the next pair. And the next after that. And the next after that. Four trips in and four trips out...

Brienne Tarth had only been 14 years old at the time and she'd saved 8 lives that day. 9, including her own. 

She'd squared off against a raging inferno and lived to tell the tale. 

These sniveling, cowardly rapists were nothing compared to that. If she'd let him, he'd like to be there when Brienne confronted them, when she lit the match that'd burn the fuckers to cinders.

Slowly but surely he led her out to his car and drove her home.

He knew her dad was a PI now and worked weird hours and sure enough, their parking space was empty so he let them into her apartment using her key. 

Her dog was there to greet them, tail wagging and tongue lolling out of his mouth.

Jaime had to half-carry her over the threshold and full-out carry her bridal-style to her room, but he eventually got her situated in bed. 

She was out at soon as her head hit the pillow. 

He took her shoes off. Considered taking her jeans off, too, just so she’d be more comfortable, but ultimately decided against it since she didn’t need yet another guy pawing at her and stripping her of her clothes without her consent.

She’d been violated enough, for fuck’s sake. 

Besides, hopefully she’d feel less freaked out the next morning if she woke up still wearing the same clothes from the night before. 

He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and some Tylenol to set at her bedside. 

He knew he should go, but seeing Brienne Tarth so vulnerable stirred up all his protective instincts. 

The blinds were open so moonlight streamed into the room, bathing her features in a silvery glow. 

His heart quaked at the sweep of her paler than pale lashes fanning across her flushed cheek, the drape of her arm wrapping around her body as she curled into a ball, the movement of her long, slender fingers drawing soothing circles on her side where she was clutching herself about the waist. 

The corner of her mouth twitched and her brow furrowed, making Jaime worry that those assholes had followed her into her dreams.

No girl as big and strong and brave should ever look as vulnerable as she did just then. But that was the thing about her. For having been built like a line-backer and having been blessed with the soul of a true-blue lionheart, she was also curiously fragile, delicate. 

Soft as down beneath her shell. 

There was a sweetness to her, an innocence that had unsettled him from the first. It was so far removed from anything he’d ever known and it compelled him to do things, to want things he never had before. 

He pulled the comforter up to her chin and took a seat at her desk chair. 

The dog – Pod, wasn’t it? – seemed to sense that something was wrong and was subdued as he leaped onto her bed and curled up beside her. Like he knew she had been hurt and that they were both standing guard over her. 

To be brutally honest, Pod would probably do a better job than he ever could. If the dog had been there that night, he might’ve saved Cersei or at least barked and alerted the household there was an intruder, sounded the alarm before it was too late.

He let out a humorless chuckle. “Your father would have my hide if he saw me in here with you. He’d consider me a threat. Fear for your safety. But then he probably gave that rapist piece of shit his blessing to date you so you have to concede he’s maybe not the best judge of character.”

Pod thumped his tail in his sleep and his snore grew louder. Jaime took this to mean that the dog shared his derision for self-righteous former sheriffs who discriminated against unfairly accused Lannisters while being hoodwinked by pasty would-be rapists. 

“Your dad thinks I’m a killer, did you know?” he asked, leaning forward in his chair toward her. “Thinks I killed Cersei. It’s why he lost his job.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I swear I didn’t hear he’d been fired until weeks after it happened or I would’ve tried to do… _something_. I was kind of checked out back then if you didn’t notice. But the honorable Selwyn Tarth is in good company with his suspicions…great dads think alike! Oh, yes, dear old papa found me clutching her body and just naturally assumed I strangled my sister to death…y’know, as you do.”

He snorted and shook his head, squeezing his bruised knuckles to ground himself. “Tyrion, too. What a dick-punch, huh? One member of my family is murdered and the rest think I did it. And not only that, they tried to cover it up. It’s like a Norman Rockwell painting come to life, isn’t it? Enough to warm the cockles of your heart.” 

“That night…on the bridge…I was going to end it all,” he confessed in clipped tones that sounded harsh to his own ears. “I couldn’t bear it. Not Cersei being gone. Not Tyrion and Father thinking I’d done it. But then your dog jumped me and you ran up to pull him off. You gentled your voice to talk to me like you never had before and you looked at me like…shit, like we were _friends_ …” 

She’d known he was a sister-fucking freak of nature and still, she’d reached out to try to offer him comfort.

He swallowed the lump in his throat. “And I was a dick. Of course, I was. But…the next morning I woke up smelling of dog with short white strands of fur stuck to my hoodie and I…” he trailed off, lost in memory.

 _Leave it to Brienne to have a dog that's as big and blonde as her. The next time I see her I should ask if she sheds half as much as her lab does_ , he’d thought then laughed so hard his ribs protested. 

He’d imagined the blush that’d redden her face, the way her stormy eyes would flash with barely-concealed fury, the way her mouth would tug downward in a sullen frown. And for a fleeting moment, he’d wanted desperately to be alive to see it. 

It’d been the first time since discovering Cersei’s dead body that he’d had a glimpse of something After. A glimpse of a hypothetical split-second interaction in a hypothetical future.

Before that, he hadn’t been able to conjure up a single, solitary frame of what life could even look like going forward. 

It’d all just been empty, dark, meaningless. 

Which made sense. Cersei had been all he could see for so long. How could there be anything, anything whatsoever, without her? 

But then, there’d been this…this spark of something. It winked out almost immediately, though the memory of it lingered.

When his hysterical, rattling peals of laughter eventually faded, the decision had been made. He wasn’t going to die. That was a coward’s way out. He would live and be miserable. That would be a more fitting punishment for failing his other half. He didn’t deserve the peace his death would bring.

“I decided to stick around.” He studied Brienne’s face pressed against the pillow and was relieved to see that it looked like some of her tension had finally eased, the creases relaxing in sleep. “But tonight is the first time I can honestly say I’m glad I did.”

Even if he never did another worthwhile thing in his pitiful life, he’d forever be grateful he was alive that night to beat the shit out of those assholes and make sure Brienne got home safely.

Not that saving her from the worst of it meant he’d erased all that came before it. 

She may not have been gang-raped, but she’d been brought to the party under false pretenses, drugged, stripped to her underwear, surrounded by a group of half-naked boys, mocked, and threatened with various vile sexual acts they intended to force on her.

Maybe she wouldn’t remember. Would that be a blessing or a curse?

He sometimes wished he could forget all he’d seen when he’d entered Cersei’s bedroom that night to scornfully congratulate her on her coronation. But it was burned into his brain in vivid detail. 

He would spare her that pain if he could, but knowing Brienne as he did, she would find a use for that pain in a way he had not. 

She’d always been braver than him.

He watched over her until the first rays of dawn lit the night sky. Then he closed the blinds and slipped out before she could stir so she would never even know he’d been there.

Before he left, he hadn’t been able to resist leaning over her sleeping form one last time and smoothing her hair back from her forehead. 

“Sweet dreams, baby girl.” 

Then he gave Pod a fond pat on the head and turned to let himself out of the apartment.


	3. Chapter 3

Brienne felt like shit when she woke up. Like she'd been run over by a dump truck. And then the driver reversed and ran over her again.

Her head was pounding, her throat was so dry it felt as if it'd been coated with gritty sand, and there was this god awful taste in her mouth. 

When she spotted the water and Tylenol on her bedside table, she reached out eagerly for both, but she made the mistake of gulping the water too quickly and gagged, vomiting it back up. 

She was more careful after that, taking small sips of water and only when the liquid stayed put did she swallow her pills. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and then glanced down and realized she was in the same clothes from last night. 

Her fingers, feeling bigger and clumsier than usual, crept beneath the waistband of her jeans and she thanked god when she discovered she still had her underwear on. 

That was a good sign, right? And she didn’t feel funny down there and she would, wouldn’t she, if something had happened? 

Her memory was all jumbled. 

She remembered Hyle giving her a bouquet of roses before they left. Them arriving at the party. Having a good time with his friends. 

But then it got hazy.

Pod nudged her arm and she gave him a scratch behind his ears, taking comfort in his presence.

“I don’t suppose you know how I got home then?” she asked him and he licked her wrist in response.

It came back to her in flashes... 

Her world spinning on its axis in a dizzying twirl.

Hyle ushering her to the guest room as her body felt like it was being pulled down by the undertow. 

The air shifting as soon as she stepped over the threshold, his friends' sneers swiveling to her with predatory glee.

Blood draining from her face at the casual malice with which they regarded her. 

Hair standing on end as they ogled her with a glimmering lust that had little to do with desire and everything to do with violence.

They resembled nothing more than a pack of feral beasts circling their prey and there was a buzz of anticipation as if they were _looking forward_ to doing her harm. 

She recalled being shoved onto the bed, the ominous creak of the springs like nails on a chalkboard. 

Feebly attempting to fight back, but being pinned to the mattress as they viciously tore off her sweater and jeans. 

Feeling betrayed that her strength was failing her for once. 

Hating herself for her weakness and helplessness as she struggled to form words. 

Had she managed to shout ‘no’ or had that just been a thought screaming in her head that never escaped her lips? 

She recalled trying to squirm away when Hyle groped her breast and pinched her ass, when Red clamped down hard on her neck with his teeth like some kind of fucking vampire, when Bushy squeezed her inner thigh with bruising force to spread her legs.

 _My mace_ , she'd thought. _I need my mace_. 

But it was in her purse all the way across the room over on the dresser where they'd tossed it. It might as well have been a continent away for the good it did her. 

Her blurry vision had snagged on the sculpture next to her purse. 

A glittering hand on fire. 

She remembered thinking it was as ostentatious and gaudy as Jaime's blindingly gold Audi and probably twice as expensive. 

There was a sinister quality to it that put her in mind of a frat boy giving the rapists all a high five.

She remembered jeering faces above her. Their voices distorted as they insulted her body and said filthy things about what they were going to do to her.

She remembered thinking she was going to be sick. 

And then feeling grateful that she still had her bra on and hoping they’d let her keep it on while they assaulted her…and how fucked up was that? 

In the middle of everything, she’d actually spared a moment to feel gratitude toward her rapists. 

_Gratitude._

Jesus fucking Christ. 

She tried to swallow the bile threatening at the back of her throat.

They’d… _planned_ this. 

Her daiquiri hadn’t been mistakenly alcoholic, it’d been drugged. 

They’d been lying in wait. They'd _hunted_ her. Hyle had led her in there like a lamb to the slaughter. 

It seemed so obvious in hindsight.

She clutched her knees to her chest as her mind spun.

Had this been the plan when Hyle kissed her on Friday? 

Had it been the plan when he hung out with her the past month and pretended to like her? 

Or had their scheme been hatched before he ever even approached her on the basketball court that first day they met? 

Had a gangbang been the end goal from the very beginning? 

Fuck, a _gangbang_...that wasn’t a word Brienne had ever had cause to utter before a day in her life. 

It was a word she’d only ever heard on old episodes of Law and Order SVU. A word that made her flip the channel.

This was all so surreal. Like she’d entered the Twilight Zone or gone down the rabbit hole. This couldn't be her life. Her life was boring at best, embarrassing and lonely at worst. 

It wasn't _this._

A bucket of blood was the stuff of nightmares for her. Not rape. 

She’d never feared sexual assault the way other girls did. Somehow she’d always assumed her looks would protect her from most anyone _wanting_ to rape her, and that her size and muscle would save her from the deviant outlier that liked a challenge. 

She had never considered the possibility that she’d be drugged and rendered physically incapable of fighting back. 

And to think she’d been so very terrified she’d die a virgin. As if _that_ was the worst fate imaginable. What a goddamn fool she’d been. 

_Okay, focus, Brienne_ , she chided herself. _What happened next?_

A part of her didn’t want to know, but a larger part demanded the truth, no matter the fallout.

Hyle and his buddies were standing in a ring around her. 

They’d undone their jeans and their privates were exposed. She vaguely remembered thinking to herself that she’d never seen a penis in person before and that suddenly there were five of them pointing at her. 

Like weapons. 

She remembered Red making a crack about her being too ugly to rape and then Hyle had tossed his shirt over her face.

Of all the horrors they’d visited upon her, somehow him covering her face was the thing that'd filled her with roiling shame. The thing that even now made her skin crawl, her insides wither. 

But then…someone else came in and there’d been the sounds of punches being thrown. Hyle had cried out in pain, and a couple of the other boys had groaned, too, and then silence. 

Someone had scared them off and helped her, hadn’t they? 

But who?

Brienne scrubbed a shaky hand over her aching temple and plucked at her sweater. The stench of smoke and booze from the party suddenly hit her and, just like that, her clothes seemed tainted, foreign. As if they were no longer hers, as if those monstrous boys had claimed them when they peeled them off her. 

She tore at her sweater wildly and threw it in the trash bin and then bent over to rip her jeans off and wad them into a ball and kicked them into the corner for good measure. Her bra and underwear went in the bin, too.

For a minute she stood there without a stitch of clothing on, shivering. 

She’d always felt so uncomfortable in her own skin. 

Always been so ashamed of her body. 

Always tried to wear armor, cover up her flaws with big, bulky clothing to feel safe and hidden. 

But right then, her freckled skin, her ungainly body, they were all she had. All that felt like hers and hers alone. All that fit.

Standing there naked as the day she was born, she was reborn. It was as if she'd shed that which constricted her, that which stole her breath, her voice, and conspired to make her smaller than she was. 

In this moment, she felt strong, invincible, like a woman with no fucks left to give...but how much of that was a fleeting illusion? 

How much was merely the cold clarity of shock masquerading as revelation? Detached numbness masquerading as fearlessness? 

Was this a breakthrough or a breakdown? 

She supposed she'd find out soon enough one way or the other.

When her goosebumps got the best of her, she hustled into the bathroom to warm up, but even after a long, hot shower she couldn’t stop shivering. 

She might as well have taken a plunge in an ice bath for how cold she felt inside and out. She bundled up in her heaviest flannel pajamas and thickest wool socks and then threw a sweatshirt on over it all. 

It was time to look at the cam footage to identify some of the missing puzzle pieces from the events of the last night. 

Her father had installed audio enabled security cameras a couple months back. 

After he’d been ousted from the department and publicly maligned by the media, they’d received their first batch of death threats. He’d immediately set up cams all over their place, including one in her bedroom, against her objections.

She’d gotten used to changing her clothes in the bathroom (the one place where there were no cameras) and wiping the previous day’s recordings each morning. Which she’d need to do sooner rather than later since her panic attack had made her forget to flee to the privacy of her bathroom before stripping down. 

Just as being raped had not been on her agenda for yesterday, becoming an unwitting cam girl was not part of the plan for today. 

But first, she needed to check the footage from the foyer. Maybe it’d give her an inkling of who helped her out last night if they saw her home.

Brienne couldn’t have been more stunned when _Jaime Lannister_ of all people was revealed to be her mysterious savior. He was the one who opened her front door and hauled her inside in the dead of night. 

Jaime was a little winded which, considering he'd just dragged her up a flight of stairs, was no small wonder. 

There was a slight flush to his cheeks and his hair was in disarray, but both only served to enhance his devilish good looks. He looked as unfairly gorgeous as ever and she looked well, like herself, but even worse if it was possible. 

Where he was rakishly windswept, she was just peaky.

She was slumped against him, white as a sheet, her head lolling upon his shoulder. And fuck if she wasn't drooling on him. 

And the thing of it was that he wasn't an ass about it. He didn't complain about her ruining his expensive jacket or roll his eyes or look at her with distaste. He just tightened his grip around her waist and kept murmuring encouragement to her. 

"Almost there. Just a few more steps," he said as he urged her inside and braced her against the wall so he could close the door behind her. "We made it. Home sweet home," he announced with a broad smile before pulling her back into his arms and guiding her down the hall.

But no, she could in fact be more shocked because checking the cam footage from the living room showed the moment she faltered and instead of Jaime steering her to the nearest sofa, he scooped her up like that was something he could do and carried her to her bedroom. 

Then the cam in her room showed him carry her the rest of the way to deposit her on her bed. And he didn't just drop her like a sack of potatoes once he'd reached the mattress. He slowly lowered her to the bed with such care, her chin wobbled.

She hadn't been picked up and carried by anyone since she was five years old. By the time she was seven, her dad's back would've given out if he'd even dared make the attempt. 

And after she was settled, Jaime didn't make some joke about her weight or make a show of rubbing his lower back or bending over to catch his breath. He didn't know he had an audience and still, he was so decent about everything. 

Her eyes grew wider and wider as he tugged off her shoes, set the water and Tylenol out for her, and pulled her comforter up over her. 

When he took a seat, he studied her with an indecipherable expression.

Moonlight spilled into the room, illuminating his features in profile. She could see the clench of his jaw, the tense line of his shoulders. 

And then he began to talk. 

Brienne forgot to breathe as he confessed his innocence, confessed he’d been presumed guilty by his own family right from the start, confessed he’d been planning to take his own life that night on the bridge.

The way his throat worked when he said ‘friends’ made her feel ashamed for ever having doubted him. For letting her anger at his father’s machinations overrule her initial gut feeling that he could never have done such a thing. 

After he admitted to being glad he was there for her that night, Jaime lapsed into silence. He tipped his head back against the chair, but his gaze stayed locked on her. 

When he shifted just right, she caught a glimpse of his bloodied knuckles and she wished Hyle’s rank-smelling shirt hadn’t obscured her vision when Jaime was thrashing them. She’d have liked to have seen his fist slam into their flesh over and over again.

She watched him watch over her and it could have been creepy, but it was the opposite of that. 

It would’ve been enough if he’d simply stopped Hyle and the rest from assaulting her. Enough if he’d driven her home afterward. But it was above and beyond anything she’d ever expected from anyone in her life that he saw her home and kept vigil at her bedside until morning.

She almost felt like she was intruding on something private. The notion was so disconcerting that she fast-forwarded until he moved to close the blinds at dawn. 

Her heart leaped into her throat when he stroked her face and called her baby girl. His voice was so tender she could've sworn it truly was an endearment escaping his lips and not just said in jest. 

She remained frozen in place long after Jaime slipped out of her apartment. 

Brienne observed her sleeping self of just hours before and was jealous of that girl. Her world hadn't been turned upside down, or rather, it had, but she wasn't conscious of it yet. 

When her former self began to stir, she shut it off before she could see the truth catch up with her.

Let that other version of herself stay fixed in that moment forevermore. 

Suspended in blissful ignorance.

When she ventured into the kitchen an hour later, she spotted the red roses on the countertop sitting there all unassumingly. 

Fury, the likes of which she'd never known before, flared white-hot in her belly. 

She marched over and hurled the glass vase at the wall, causing it to shatter into a million pieces. 

She experienced a brief flash of alarm when Pod came running in to see what was wrong and she had to vault over the counter to stop him before he stepped on any of the shards. 

Once he was safely ensconced in her bedroom with the door closed, she returned to the scene of the crime to shove the roses down the garbage disposal one at a time. 

Her fingers bled from the prick of thorns, but she didn't care. 

If anything, she felt vindicated that the duplicitous bouquet was finally being honest with her regarding its intentions toward her. 

Those roses that'd feigned sweetness at the start had been biding their time all along just waiting for their chance to cut her to the bone. 

Just like Hyle himself. 

After she finished cleaning up the glass, she collapsed in a heap on the kitchen floor and broke down in sobs. 

_Fuck you_ , she thought as tears streamed down her face.

_Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you._


	4. Chapter 4

_Can we meet?_

Jaime read her text with mixed emotions, some dangerous brew of dread and clawing hope.

Before leaving Brienne’s house that morning, he’d tracked down her phone and entered his number into her contacts just in case, but he hadn’t expected her to reach out. Or at least not so soon.

 _Footbridge 5pm_ , he typed back. Then he saved her number under Baby Girl.

By late afternoon the wind had kicked up, sending dark clouds scudding across the sky at a brisk clip. 

When she arrived, she was all bundled up and her face was even paler than usual. It appeared she'd spent a fair portion of the day crying, but her spine was straight and her eyes were calm as she met his gaze. He should’ve known she’d be fearless even in this.

He arched a brow. “Did Pod have a prior engagement or what? I was looking forward to being mauled again. I even brought a gift for him,” he said, producing a garish neon yellow chew toy he'd bought on a whim at the pet store on his way there.

Her lips twitched as she took the toy. “Pod’s very in demand,” she replied dryly. “But I’ll be sure to tell him Jaime Lannister sends his regards when he finds time to pencil me in.” 

He leaned back against the railing. “So. You remember, then?” He couldn’t imagine her texting him if she didn’t.

She gave a sharp nod. “It’s a bit of a blur, but I think I remember most of what happened. My dad installed security cameras in our place a while back and I…” She paused, her gaze darting away from him as she swallowed. “I checked out the footage since I didn’t recall how I got home. And you’ll never guess what I saw. What I _heard_."

“Ah,” Jaime said. If he’d been a little less distracted he might’ve spotted the cameras at least on his way out, but it was what it was. So she didn’t just know he’d seen her home, but that he’d put her to bed and watched over her all night like some stalker. 

Shit, the things he’d said. He'd practically mistaken her bedroom for a confessional.

Thanks to his big mouth, she knew all about Cersei and his brother and his dad and the bridge. 

But maybe that was only right. They were even now. 

He’d seen her laid bare, completely defenseless, and in return he’d unwittingly bared his soul to her on camera. 

“Thank you,” she said, her blue, blue eyes swimming with sincerity and gratitude and fuck, he had to fight the urge to slap his hand over them because they were too goddamn much.

He waved her off. “Don’t. Just don’t.”

Her chin lifted defiantly and she got that mulish look on her face that meant she wasn’t going to back down. “Ever since I woke up today, there’ve been jagged fragments of memory tearing me to shreds, making me bleed at the mere thought of them. I remember the way their expressions turned ugly as soon as they got me alone in that room. The vile stuff they said as they tore off my clothes. How helpless I felt.”

She shifted so that she was standing beside him at the railing, peering out at the choppy sea churning beneath the bridge. Her chin quivered as her hands clenched at her sides and Jaime wanted to fucking round up the bastards and slit their throats from ear to ear.

“Hyle threw his shirt over my face and…I felt like I couldn’t breathe. And then something swooped at those laughing, sneering boys. Something made them go away. _You_. You were there and you put my clothes back on and told me I was safe.” 

She turned to meet his gaze and her eyes were as turbulent as the whitecaps below. “They would’ve raped me. They were going to film it, spread it around. I heard them say so. I couldn’t have…” she broke off, gulping in air and he reached for her, but she took a step back. “I don’t think I could have survived that. Thank you isn’t enough. I know Lannisters always pride themselves on paying their debts, but so do Tarths. I’m going to find the person who killed your sister and make sure they never harm another innocent.”

She spoke with such conviction. Repeating his family’s motto as if it were a solemn vow made in earnest instead of a thinly-veiled threat his father liked to spit at business rivals.

He couldn’t help smiling. “My sister was no innocent. If you meant what you said, that’s the first thing you need to know going in. Because there’s going to be a long list of people who’d have reason to end her life. People she bullied, people she strung along, people she fucked over. I’m not even 100% positive that my father and brother can be crossed off the list.” 

Brienne blanched, looking so appalled Jaime laughed.

“You’re not the only one whose home is recorded day and night. That’s part of why my dad thinks I did it. He had a state of the art surveillance system installed years ago. The cameras were disabled that night and the killer got in and out without tripping the alarm or being caught by security. Which means they knew the codes to everything. What does that tell you? It was most likely an inside job.”

Jaime had thought about it a lot lately. He’d spent countless sleepless nights, tossing and turning, wondering if Tyrion might be the one responsible. It was easier to contemplate such a thing after his brother had already put him under the microscope first. 

He was simply returning the favor. 

Cersei had hated their little brother since the day he was born and the feeling was certainly mutual. She’d said and done some unspeakably vicious things to him over the years, things that Jaime had willed himself to forget so he wouldn’t feel like he needed to choose between them. 

Tyrion was always the clever one. Maybe his accusatory gaze was a means of deflecting suspicion. After all why would he suspect Jaime if he'd done it himself? Unless that was the entire point.

He wasn't even supposed to be at the house that night. Armed with fake IDs, he and Bronn had planned to drive up the coast and hit the casino. If everything had gone to schedule, Tyrion should've been being kicked to the curb for counting cards at the time Cersei was being murdered. 

But instead he'd been home and within earshot to hear Jaime's mournful lament when he discovered his twin's body. 

Why was that? 

He hadn't been able to muster up the nerve to ask Tyrion just yet. He wasn't mentally prepared for what the answer might be. He'd need to steel himself for that particular conversation.

But even if Cersei’s sadistic mind games had driven his little brother to commit murder, Jaime couldn’t conceive of a scenario where Tyrion would have left her body like that with her nightgown rucked up above her waist and her limbs splayed out obscenely. 

Whoever had killed her had wanted to humiliate her one last time, _degrade_ her, and that made him more inclined to suspect one of the wannabe lotharios she’d recently spurned hadn’t handled rejection quite so gracefully. 

“You speak of debts, but if you listened to me droning on last night then you should know you already saved my life. Right here on this very bridge months ago.” He gestured to the waves that would’ve taken him if she hadn’t run into him that night. 

There was also the small matter of her having kept his most shameful secret for over a year now. She could’ve sold her story to the tabloids for a tidy sum of money. 

Anyone else would have. 

But even after Brienne had fled the library that day and the fog of lust had lifted as Cersei smacked him for fucking her face too enthusiastically and messing up her hair, he’d known their secret was safe with her. 

Brienne wasn’t one for idle gossip. She wouldn’t tattle on them. It wasn’t in her nature. 

He’d been more concerned she would misunderstand what she saw, assume since he was the boy in their relationship that he must be taking advantage of his sister. It wouldn’t matter that Cersei had called the shots every step of the way all their lives. Nobody would believe that. 

If Brienne had suspected abuse, it’d have been game over because she’d have gone directly to her father and reported it. Since playing the role of relentless do-gooder _was_ in her nature. 

In addition to the scandal that’d ensue and the enforced separation from his sister that he’d have to endure, he’d dreaded confirmation that Brienne thought so poorly of him. But the sheriff didn’t visit their house that night and the next day when he went to approach Brienne in the hall, he’d read the truth on her face. 

She knew he was fucked up, but not _that_ fucked up.

However, the last 24 hours had been heavy enough without dredging that all up again so he skipped over it and met her gaze levelly. 

“So by my tally, we’re all tied up right now. But I have a counterproposal for you. You help me solve Cersei’s murder and I’ll help you destroy the merry band of rapists. I have all sorts of ideas about how to ruin them. I found that piece of shit in the yearbook…Hyle Cunt and then looked into him. For instance, were you aware his father is long gone, but his mother is a grunt worker at none other than Lannistercorp? It sure would be a shame if she lost her job and was blackballed from getting any other work in the area…”

Brienne rocked back on her heels. “No. Absolutely not. His mom doesn’t deserve that. She had nothing to do with what he did to me.”

“Gotcha. No collateral damage. We’re seeking precision-based vengeance then.”

“No, not vengeance,” she said firmly. “Justice.” 

“Be honest,” Jaime scoffed, “if you’d wanted justice, you’d have texted me from the nearest hospital where you’d be having your blood drawn and tested for roofies. The police would be there so you could file a report and you’d have called me down to corroborate your story as a witness. But instead you’re here with me on a bridge talking about debts. So, vengeance it is.”

She shuffled her feet and hung her head. “Actually I was planning to just forget it ever happened and avoid them from now on,” she admitted to her shoes.

He did a double-take. “Brienne. Please tell me you’re joking. But you're you so of course you're not joking,” he said dolefully, wanting nothing more than to bury his face in his palm on her account. 

It was so like Brienne that she'd be so gung-ho about getting justice for someone else while reticent to do the same for herself. He shook his head and tried to rally. 

“Fuck the high ground, let’s burn it down and salt the earth! Scorch those motherfuckers!" he chanted, his blood singing in time with his soaring battle cry. "You know, Connington and Bushy only got into college based on their ability to dribble a ball. What if they were the victims of a nasty accident that sidelined them for the rest of the season and they happened to lose their scholarships?”

“We’re not _hobbling_ them!” she hissed, glancing around wildly as if afraid someone might overhear their dastardly scheme for revenge. As if she assumed he was volunteering to be Jeff Gillooly to her Tonya Harding. He was offended she thought he’d be half as sloppy as that. “You already beat them up,” she continued. “Isn’t that enough?” 

She looked so horrified, Jaime laughed again.

“Oh, fine. In a true partnership, there must be give and take. Compromise. I will respect your scruples as long as you make allowances for my bloodthirsty vindictiveness. In the spirit of cooperation, I promise to refrain from going after their parents’ livelihoods or crippling them. We’ll be _honorable_ and _righteous_ as we dole out some cold hard _justice_ to those pricks,” he said breezily. 

She eyed him with overt skepticism, but the corner of her mouth quirked upward as if she were amused in spite of herself.

“Speaking of pricks, what if I told you that thanks to Tyrion’s hacking prowess, I’d gotten my hands on a less than flattering dick pic of Cunt?” he said, lifting his pinky with a smirk. 

You had to hit assholes like him where it’d hurt the most. Below the belt, literally. For a punk like Hyle, public humiliation would be even worse than Jaime beating the shit out of him. 

“I know what you’re going to say…how is that going to help us, you ask? If it’s just a close-up shot of his sad, shriveled junk, who’s to say it’s even him? This is where I inform you that he was so wasted on Halloween he jacked off for the camera in nothing but chaps and a cowboy hat. He deleted it the next day, but as Tyrion says, nothing's ever truly gone if you know where to look for it. So what do you say we make sure his baby carrot is the talk of the town? And that’s just for starters!”

Brienne valiantly tried to defend her reputation as the most humorless girl alive, pressing her lips together stoically, but her eyes danced with laughter, giving her away. 

Jaime grinned brightly and nudged her with his shoulder. She nudged him back.

Then she glanced down at his aching hand and bit her lip. Her conflicted gaze betrayed she was engaged in some sort of internal battle. Caught between what she _wanted_ to do and what she thought she _should_ do. 

The faint blush rising high on her cheekbones was promising, though, so he stayed perfectly still and tried to project an air of approachability.

It was more difficult than he would have expected. 

Smirking and sneering were second nature to him. His face was _made_ for pride and arrogance, mockery and threats. It didn't know what to do with sincerity...humility...vulnerability. Bland shit like that. 

His mouth kept trying to twist ironically and he kept having to ruthlessly flatten it back out before Brienne saw and recoiled. Kept having to tell his inner-asshole to shut the fuck up, you're not as funny as you think you are. 

He waited with bated breath until she finally summoned the courage to reach out for him, letting her fingers graze his swollen knuckles. 

She was gentle, so goddamn gentle. 

They both shivered at the contact. 

Something was wrong, though. He bowed his head to peer at her fingertips more closely. The skin there was torn, littered with slices.

"What happened?" he asked more gruffly than he'd intended. 

When he'd gotten her dressed last night, he couldn't help but catalog all the ways in which those brutes had marked her. There'd been thumb-sized red prints on her thighs from where they'd grabbed her and what appeared to be a bite mark on her neck that'd surely bruise, but he hadn't noticed cuts on her hands. 

"Rose thorns," she said with a shrug, but didn't elaborate further.

When her self-consciousness got the better of her and she moved to withdraw, he settled his other hand over hers.

“So do we have a deal, baby girl? Partners in anti-crime?” he asked, his voice unaccountably hoarse.

Brienne studied him for a long moment then placed her other hand atop his.

As if trumpeting news of their partnership far and wide, the sky opened up and began to pour just then. 

"You see?" Jaime said, spreading his arms, palms up, and lifting his face to the rain with a laugh. "The deluge will flush out everyone's dirty secrets until all the muck is washed away and only the truth remains. You get it? _We're_ the deluge!"

She clearly didn't have time for his fanciful metaphors. With a roll of her eye, she popped the umbrella she’d brought with her ‘just in case’ and let him edge closer to share it with her.

Always so very diligent, so very responsible, Brienne was.

Their shoulders brushed with every step they took until they encountered their first puddle. 

The temptation it posed was too great. 

Jaime pounced and splashed her. Brienne called him a child, but she was quick to claim the next puddle for her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a bigger story I want to tell for this fusion (obviously, since the main mystery wasn't solved), but my attention span has been shot lately. I seem to be more productive when I focus on tackling shorter writing projects. 
> 
> So I decided to just focus on writing the first part and post it in the hopes it would inspire me to continue with the series. I consider these first 4 chapters to be a prologue of sorts to the main action in the same way the flashbacks in S1 of Veronica Mars functioned. 
> 
> Please let me know if you'd be interested in reading more in this 'verse.
> 
> *
> 
> natty-danai commissioned 4 pieces of fanart for this fic by the talented fawnilu so I thought I'd share the links. Do yourself a favor and check them out because they're GORGEOUS.
> 
> Here's a pic from the scene in chapter 1 where Jaime reaches out to touch Brienne's lips - https://natty-danai.tumblr.com/post/621043962451476480/i-think-i-post-more-of-fawnilu-artwork-on-my
> 
> Here's a pic of Jaime carrying Brienne to bed - https://natty-danai.tumblr.com/post/621278807474700289/but-no-she-could-in-fact-be-more-shocked-because
> 
> Here's a pic from the scene in chapter 4 when they're standing on the bridge and Brienne grazes his bruised knuckles - https://natty-danai.tumblr.com/post/621100648868593664/he-waited-with-bated-breath-until-she-finally
> 
> And finally, if you want to see Jaime splashing Brienne during the rainstorm, you can do so here - https://natty-danai.tumblr.com/post/621043962451476480/i-think-i-post-more-of-fawnilu-artwork-on-my


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